


Mere Curiosity

by booksong



Series: SportsFest 2018 Bonus Rounds [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Erogenous Zones, Frottage, M/M, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Wings, an embarrassing amount of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 06:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15113345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksong/pseuds/booksong
Summary: "He could do this. They agreed they could, andwould, talk about these sorts of things with each other. They’ve already found all kinds of each other’s weaknesses together.It’s just that at this point, Tadashi would almost rather admit to Kei that he has some edgy kink, like choking or knifeplay, than tell him that he wants--has wanted for years--god,everythingabout his wings."





	Mere Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/gifts).



> *This was written for BR 1 of SportsFest 2018 (with the prompt TIME: 'some time after B confesses to A that A's secret wings B's known about for years are a kink for B'/PLACE: 'wherever A first takes B up on that' from Marks), was posted thirty minutes before the round's deadline, and is officially my first nsfw-ish fic ever. If you'd told me months or even weeks ago that this would be my first nsfw thing I would never have guessed, but it turned out to be really fun (nerve-wracking, but fun) and I feel like I learned a lot!
> 
> Stay tuned for other possible SportsFest18 fills of mine being crossposted to AO3!
> 
> **They're both about third-years here, so the underage tag is just to be safe!

The first memory Tadashi always comes back to as the start of his fascination isn’t when he first saw the wings. He’d been too young, then, and there were too many unpleasant, unsettling aspects attached to it: Kei’s stricken look of horror, the heated, fearful whispers of their respective family members holding hushed conferences in hallways, and the way Kei hadn’t met his eyes for five awful, confusing weeks when Tadashi was sure he was being punished for some unspeakable and unspoken crime he’d committed.

No, instead it’s the memory he has of when they were ten years old, long after things had gone back to as normal as they could get, on Kei’s bed with a plate of tea and snacks and the bird encyclopedia Tadashi had gotten for his birthday.

“Hmmmm--I think there’s too much brown for them to be albatross...oh, except this one--the black-footed albatross! It’s still kind of the wrong color though…” Tadashi had been crouching lower on the bed, on hands and knees, inspecting the wing Kei had obediently stretched to its full extension from several different angles. 

This close he could see the places where the grey and brown smudged into each other, the edging flecks of black on some feathers, and the soft hints of down filling in the gaps like mortar between bricks. He’d glanced from the page of the encyclopedia to the wing and back again, chewing the inside of his cheek as he compared them. Then he’d settled back and started flipping more pages.

“Maybe we should try the raptors…”

“I’m not a dinosaur, Yamaguchi.” Kei had been sitting cross-legged, nibbling each corner methodically off of a square cookie and not appearing overly invested in the proceedings. _Appearing_ was the key word there, though, Tadashi knew. A few minutes before, they’d gotten into a fairly heated debate on whether his coloration might be more similar to a green pheasant or a copper pheasant.

“I meant raptors like birds of prey, Tsukki. Although there is some resemblance, in the talons and stuff! It’s kind of too bad you didn’t get talons.” Tadashi had reached out, unthinking, and run his thumb slowly along the outer curve of the wing where the feathers were so small and close together they felt like velvet, tracing the bone beneath. He wanted to say something else, something about how most scientists now believed dinosaurs had feathers too, and could Tsukki imagine a T-rex with wings like his? But he’d lost the words in favor of tracing his fingers lightly over the wing again, mesmerized by the contrast of softness and strength, size and fragility. And then--

“My shoulder is getting sore,” Kei had murmured abruptly. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt at the time--even the clothing tailored to fit his wings wasn’t perfect or particularly comfortable, and he didn’t bother with it when they were alone--so the stretch and pull of the thick muscle that wrapped from his collarbone over his shoulder had been fully visible as the wing went slack, half-folding back in towards his body. Tadashi still remembers, vividly, the soft noise it had made as he did so, the little susurrations as the feathers brushed against one another, and against Kei’s quilt. Slowly, rubbing his shoulder like it had a kink in it, Kei had pulled it back in until it was a tightly furled twin to the one on his left shoulder.

It was a dismissal, and Tadashi had accepted it as one, despite the little tug of disappointment in his stomach. “Sorry, Tsukki. I should have noticed the time. I should be getting home anyway.” Even that young, Tadashi had known there were limits to Kei’s comfort with his curiosity. His best friend indulged him, of course, even though his first response to Tadashi’s bird encyclopedia had been, “I don’t think tengu count as birds native to Japan, Yamaguchi.” But still, the wings felt like a very private thing, and so despite the fact that they fascinated Tadashi, the fact that lately he’d been wanting to look at and touch them more than usual...he’d always tried to push the urge away. The last thing on earth he ever wanted to do was make Kei uncomfortable, or worse, hurt him or their friendship.

Mere curiosity, after all, wasn’t such a big deal. It could be managed.

**

They’d been first years in high school when Tadashi first dreamed about it; it had been completely involuntary, which was why the guilt hadn’t eaten him alive. That and the fact that all he’d had to go on in the dream were vague impressions, things he could blame on weird subconscious symbolism instead of anything connected to real life. And even though he couldn’t deny that the dream had been full of both hot, bare skin and _feathers_ , that didn’t have to mean anything. Dreams were _weird_ ; sex dreams were no exception.

That reasoning had lasted him up until, two months later, he’d finally caved and used the fantasy knowingly, while awake, stifling his moan of release and slow-dawning horror into his pillow. He hadn’t been able to look Kei in the eye for a week, but that didn’t stop him from doing it again. 

And for a while during their second year, when Kei had asked him out, it had gone right out of his head. The giddiness of knowing that _any_ fantasy or hope he’d harbored about Kei was now within reach of reality meant that he didn’t have to linger on anything his conscience still considered forbidden--he had plenty to think (and overthink) about without factoring the wings into it.

But then they start having study sessions alone in one or the other of their rooms. Study sessions that turn into makeout sessions and sometimes into... _exploratory_ sessions. (“ _For science,_ ” Kei breathes hotly into Tadashi’s ear one time, and they don’t get any further that day because he’s laughing too hard.) And the old fascination starts to sneak its way back into Tadashi’s dreams and daydreams.

And it’s getting more difficult to manage.

**

They’re studying for entrance exams today-- _really_ studying, for the most part. Kei is lying flat on his stomach on the bed with his textbook between his elbows, shirtless as usual. Tadashi can’t help but think, not for the first time, that this had probably also been a substantial factor in his gradual sexual awakening to his best friend over the years. His wings are spread and relaxed, draped over the sides of the bed because at their full ten-and-a-half foot span they no longer fit on top of it. Every once in a while they lift and flex in a lazy stretch, tensing the muscles across Kei’s shoulders and sending a little breeze through the stiflingly warm summer air. 

Tadashi feels warm and stifled for an entirely different reason. He’s finally made up his mind that’s it’s going to be today, and right now there’s no touching or kissing or the lazily sharp expression Kei gives him across the room sometimes that means one or both of them is going to be having an orgasm within the hour. No distractions. And yet he’s still stalling, hunched in Kei’s desk chair reading the same passage in his book for the tenth time in between staring as long as he dares at his boyfriend’s concentration face, his bare back, his _wings_ \--

Tadashi tries to shift position in the chair as casually as he can and drag a wayward cushion into his lap at the same moment. He absolutely cannot start this conversation with a discussion of his boner. _Finishing_ with that...remains to be seen, but it definitely isn’t the right note to begin with.

He could do this. They agreed they could, and _would_ , talk about these sorts of things with each other. They’ve already found all kinds of each other’s weaknesses together.

It’s just that at this point Tadashi would almost rather admit to Kei that he has some edgy kink, like choking or knifeplay, than tell him that he wants--has wanted for years--god, _everything_ about his wings. Kei is a lot better about them now than he used to be, almost a year into their relationship, but Tadashi doesn’t miss the way he still struggles to keep them as tightly furled as possible whenever they make out or get each other off. It can’t be easy, either, not when they have a tendency of involuntarily moving or spreading out whenever Kei’s emotions run high. It was one of the reasons Tadashi has long suspected Kei had honed his apathetic attitude and almost unshakable poker face to such a razor point over the years.

But now, more and more often, Tadashi wants to stop in the middle of kissing Kei’s brains out and tell him to just... _let go_. That no part of him could possibly frighten or disgust Tadashi (very, very much the contrary, it turned out), that there’s no reason to hold himself back or feel embarrassed or ashamed. But he’s always ended up backing off, letting himself sink into the easy, all-consuming pleasure and telling himself he’ll bring it up next time, next time.

Well, next time is going to be today. Is going to be right now.

“Um, Tsukki?” Oh god it’s going to be _right now_.

Kei glances up, and almost immediately a slight frown line appears on his forehead. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“No, no--I’m fine, it’s just...your wings?” Is there _any_ conceivable smooth way to segue into this topic?

“What about them?” Kei lifts one slightly, all the overlapping feathers fanning out like someone spreading their fingers. Tadashi nearly swallows his tongue along with his next words, but somehow, somehow he forces out--

“I--I _like_ your wings, Tsukki.” There, he’d said it.

“...Thank you?” Tadashi knows Kei is a smart person, probably the smartest person he’s ever known, so he genuinely can’t tell whether his bemused expression is sarcastic or not. The only thing that convinces him it’s not is that Kei has drastically reduced the amount of sarcasm he aims at Tadashi these days--it’s still a lot, but it’s _fonder_ , and he doesn’t think Kei would use it for something like this.

Which means he’s going to have to spell it out. Let it never be said he wasn’t willing to suffer for his pleasures.

There are probably so many ways he could phrase this, so many more _tasteful_ ways, but this is Kei, and while that also makes this terrifying...it’s _Kei_.

So as he’s done before in the case of his boyfriend’s very specific emotional blindnesses, he simply takes a deep breath and goes for broke.

“ _Your wings turn me on!_ ” Tadashi shouts, probably much louder than necessary, but sometimes he really has to make sure Kei _hears_ him. He’s seen him willfully misconstrue things before, metaphorically avert his eyes from whatever is too much trouble, but that is not happening now. Not with this. The way Kei has frozen in place and is staring at Tadashi with his eyes very wide behind his glasses suggest he is, indeed, listening now. “They do it for me! I am really, _extremely_ into your wings, Tsukki, since before we were even dating! In--in _a sexy way_ , okay? Is that clear enough?”

There’s a long, ringing pause so silent and perfect that Tadashi almost wants to laugh, a little hysterically maybe.

“...You’re lucky my parents aren’t home,” Kei says finally, but he’s dropped his pencil at some point in favor of fidgeting with the pages of his textbook. The tops of his ears are very, extremely red, and the arches of his wings are quivering where they’re now tucked tight along his spine. 

Tadashi feels a little queasy, suddenly. In all his thoughts about how this would go when he finally got up the courage, he hasn’t thought about what happens if Kei hears him...and doesn’t like what he hears. “Is that...okay?” he asks, his own voice sounding very quiet after how loud his shout had been, and in hindsight that was--incredibly embarrassing, that he’d just _yelled_ it like that.

“It’s--,” Kei stops, and his wings surge half-open again with the deep breath he takes. It makes Tadashi’s own breath hitch despite himself, despite everything. Kei pushes his glasses up his nose almost aggressively. “...I need to think about it.”

Tadashi’s boner, seeming to realize that this conversation _isn’t_ going to end with it after all, has basically evaporated, and he finds himself wilting likewise. Kei doesn’t seem angry or upset with him, but it’s not exactly a ringing endorsement either. 

Tadashi slunk awkwardly home not long after that, stomach roiling at the anticlimax, unable to stop thinking about how similar this is to that memory from when they were ten, and Kei had shut him out like this because he’d been a little too casual with his fascination. That hadn’t ended their friendship, of course, far from it; but this was a little bit of an... _escalation_...from excitedly comparing Kei’s wings to pictures in bird books and touching them a little. So Tadashi thinks maybe this time his anxiety is justified--maybe he truly has crossed the final, kinky line today.

**

Kei, who probably knows him far too well at this point, only makes him wallow in uncertainty until the next afternoon. In hindsight, Tadashi realizes it might be because it only took him that long to ‘think about it,’ or because his parents were only going to be out of town until the end of the weekend. Either way, as they’re cleaning up the equipment after extra Saturday practice and packing their duffels, Tadashi’s phone vibrates with a message. Kei is about six feet away from him packing his own bag, so Tadashi isn’t even sure when he had time to send it. 

The message is very short, just two lines. 

_Walk home with me after practice like normal.  
It’s okay._

Tadashi doesn’t have to ask what ‘it’ is. He finishes packing at lightning speed, and the way Kei lets their fingers brush all the way home makes him absolutely electric.

**

Tadashi thanks all the gods of volleyball, of high school boys, of tall, gorgeous, blond winged boyfriends, that Kei doesn’t make him ask again, doesn’t drag it out into something awkward. He’s kind of had enough of that, over the years, mostly self-inflicted but _still_.

Kei strips his shirt off over his head the moment his bedroom door is shut behind them, and slowly, almost carefully, he unfolds his wings from along his spine where they’ve stayed, cramped and furled, all day. And Tadashi stares, openly and without needing to avert his eyes to a book or the window or his own hands, because Kei had texted _It’s okay_.

Then he shakes himself mentally, and pulls off his own shirt. Kei raises his eyebrows, more question than protest. 

“So we’re even,” Tadashi explains, and then crosses the room to kiss him. 

Kissing is a good, easy place to start, even though his head is already full of the rustling sound that Kei’s feathers make brushing against each other as he lets his wings hang loose instead of wrestling them back in tight. It makes him relax that Kei is so receptive, that he opens his mouth easily at the press of Tadashi’s tongue and rests his hands at his hips. 

Tadashi’s own hands are itching to touch, but he waits until Kei takes off his glasses and starts tugging him backwards toward the bed, until they’re both sinking down onto it, leaning into each other with their kisses and kicking their pants down their legs, before he lifts his hand from Kei’s now-bare thigh and leaves it hanging there, a silent question.

Kei half-rolls his eyes, but his ears and cheeks are red again as he takes Tadashi’s lifted wrist in one hand and pulls it firmly in to make contact with one of his wings.

 _Oh god_ , Tadashi thinks faintly. _Soft_. 

For a moment he just sits like that, half on Kei’s lap with his open palm pressed flat against the center of a wing. The feathers tickle, just a little, and the wing shifts with Kei’s breathing, stretches under his hand like a living thing, the bones so thin but with so much power coiled underneath. 

Kei makes a little sound that might be impatient. “You’ve been wanting this since before we started dating, and that’s all you’re going to do?”

“Shhhhh, I’m appreciating,” Tadashi tells him, which is true, but he’s also trying not to let Kei notice that he’s already most of the way to half-hard, just from being pressed this close and finally _touching_.

He takes a deep breath, and _strokes_ , slow and reverent. Shudders, and knows Kei can feel it, where their chests are pressed together.

The long feathers on the fringes of the wings-- _primaries_ , supplies the part of Tadashi’s brain that had basically memorized that bird encyclopedia--are soft as silk, and Tadashi combs his fingertips through them reverently, and then turns his hands over so he can run his knuckles up and over the softer, downier feathers higher up. The texture alone is going straight to his cock, and he barely holds himself back from just nuzzling up against one like a cat. Tadashi runs his palm in another long sweep across the middle of one wing, from base to edge. And then he sneaks a glance at Kei’s face, expecting-- _hoping_ \--to see him red-faced, tense with restraining his sensitivity, maybe already biting back the noises Tadashi loves.

He does not expect to see Kei basically smirking at him. He is a little flushed, but for the most part he looks _amused_.

“Yamaguchi,” he drawls, drawing out each syllable. “Do you think we’re in an ero-manga? Did you think you’d found my weakness? Were you expecting me to dissolve whimpering into your arms when you touched my wings?”

“I--no…” Tadashi defends weakly, feeling utterly and unfairly called out, because even _he_ hadn’t known that was a fantasy he’d been indulging until just now. “Does that not...feel good?”

Kei huffs softly. “Of course it does. It just doesn’t feel any different than when you touch me like that anywhere else. They’re not magic sex triggers. For me, anyway,” he adds, glancing pointedly down into Tadashi’s lap. 

Tadashi is torn between using his hands to cover his burning red face or using them to (uselessly) cover his extremely interested crotch.

Instead, he does neither and instead throws his arms around Kei’s neck and kisses him fiercely, licks the smirk straight off his lips and drags his fingers roughly over Kei’s nape and down the line of his spine.

He’s not necessarily gunning for anything in particular as he strokes and clutches at the warm, shifting planes of muscle that form the glory that is Kei’s back. But he can’t say it’s entirely an accident when his hands brush up against the place where Kei’s wings join his skin, the feathers there so tiny that they feel like peach fuzz. Long years of self-control make Tadashi stop himself there, waiting for permission. 

“...go ahead,” Kei breathes into his neck, and if Tadashi weren’t so keyed up by his dreams becoming reality right here in front of him, he might have paid more attention to the little catch in his boyfriend’s voice. 

Slow and firm, Tadashi rubs his thumbs against the very base of Kei’s wings where they flow into his back, where the muscle is hard and ropy, and--

Tadashi gets cuffed in the side of the head by the arch of the wing nearest him when they both surge open to their full expanse, sending Kei’s beside clock crashing to the floor. But Tadashi barely registers either of these things, because at the same moment Kei’s body bucks forward against him and he moans into Tadashi’s throat, and it’s one of the loudest and _hottest_ sounds he’s ever heard Kei make in his entire life.

Holy _shit_.

“ _Oh._ Tsukki…? Are you--” he manages to get out, before Kei cuts him off by dragging him fully into his lap so Tadashi can feel exactly how hard he is.

“Shut up and do it again,” Kei growls hoarsely, and he doesn’t have to ask _that_ twice. 

Tadashi strokes over the spot again, digging in with his knuckles this time, and he wants to feel the way the muscles bunch and roll from Kei’s shoulders to his spine under his palms for the rest of his goddamn life.

“ _Fuck, Tadashi_ ,” Kei gasps, and his wings actually beat this time, a harsh snap of movement and rush of displaced air that ruffles Tadashi’s hair and makes him press the edge of his teeth to Kei’s shoulder to stifle his whimper. 

He manages to knead the base of Kei’s wings one more time before Kei loses patience and simply grabs him by the thighs and fits them together, hip to hip in a slow grind. Tadashi’s hands surge up to grip the curve of Kei’s wings instead of his back, and the sensory input from his hands and his cock at the same time is almost enough to white out his brain.

“Kei, ‘m already...really close…” he breathes, “‘m _s-sorry…_ ”

“Don’t apologize,” Kei grits out against his temple, his hips stuttering in their quickening rhythm, “Thought about you--all last night-- _like this_ \--”

And then Kei’s wings curve forward, wrapping around him, and Tadashi is _surrounded_. There’s nothing but feathers and muscle and bone at his back, pressing at his shoulders, silky and musty and warm, and hot, damp skin against him and under him, and he’s gone. 

He comes hard against Kei’s stomach in that dark, close cocoon that’s just the two of them breathing, gasping syllables that might be attempts at one another’s names. Tadashi has a vague impression of when Kei comes too, the way he grips Tadashi’s thighs tight and his wings give a massive, rustling shudder all around them.

Tadashi doesn’t really remember how he ends up boneless and flat on his stomach on top the sheets from there, but Kei is right there with him so he supposes it really doesn’t matter. One of his wings is draped over Tadashi like a blanket, and he wants to sleep like this for a month and then wake up to do it all again.

It takes a few moments before he has enough muscle control to prop himself up on an elbow and look around the room.

It looks like a hurricane may as well have passed through: aside from the alarm clock casualty there’s a white snow of loose homework papers strewn everywhere, a tumbled pile of books that’s somehow ended up over by the closet, and a couple of the plant pots by the window are tipped over, forlornly trickling dirt over the edge of the sill.

“Oops,” Tadashi murmurs, unable to muster too much actual disappointment as he surrenders to gravity and the bed again. Cleanup--of themselves and the room--can wait a bit.

“So, did that ‘do it’ for you?” asks Kei dryly, his voice that extra octave lower that gives Tadashi the _best_ shivers. His wings are both spread out to either side now, loose and relaxed, and the one that’s draped over Tadashi is now curled in such a way that it makes a perfect hollow for him to sidle up alongside Kei’s body. He’s pretty sure it’s not an accident.

“ _Mmmmmm,_ ” Tadashi sighs eloquently in response, cuddling into that space shaped just for him. He snags a loose feather stuck to his shoulder with sweat, and lazily traces its tip along where Kei’s glasses would rest across his nose and cheekbones. He hasn’t felt this relaxed, this _secure_ , in a long time.

“I love you,” he says softly, leaning in to replace the feather with his lips. “ _All_ of you.”

“Don’t think you can make me forget you’re a deviant by using flattery,” Kei shoots back, but the corner of his mouth is curled up, and Tadashi feels the soft, solid wall of feathers at his back press him in a little closer, a little tighter.


End file.
